


Brawl

by elo_elo



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Consensual Sex, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Name-Calling, Renegade Ryder, Rough Sex, Smut, Tenderness, Two fucked up people in love, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Violent Sex, did i mention they're fucked up?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27264316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elo_elo/pseuds/elo_elo
Summary: Ryder throws a punch in Kralla’s Song. Reyes restores order.
Relationships: Female Ryder | Sara/Reyes Vidal
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	Brawl

“My bad girl.” That honeyed voice of his. Reyes kisses each bruised knuckle. His eyes hard, dangerous, never breaking contact. She’d noticed his eyes too late that first meeting. A rookie mistake. Let her guard down when he swaggered into Kralla’s Song with the saccharine charisma of someone very, very new to this game. But when he toasted her with the whiskey he’d make her comp, she’d seen it, there in his eyes. A man hiding behind several fronts, a man who would kill her. If he needed to. Wouldn’t think twice. She can still see that. His molten eyes, rimmed in red. Though he might think twice now. “My impulsive girl.” He slips her thumb between his teeth, bites the knuckle. Too hard. Lana cries out, trying to yank her hand away from him. But he’s on her, fingers around her throat, pushing her back against the couch, crawling over her. His eyes flash. Another front slipping away, closer to the core of him. A core that could be sweet, could be terrifying. She wants to take him apart, pry until she is all the way inside of him, nestled in the dark mote she’d seen in his eyes that first night. An off color that made her understand his danger, parts of it at least. Reyes squeezes, too hard, so hard her vision pops. No charm, just violence. She wheezes; he releases, fingers resting just lightly on her skin. She leans limply towards him. She wants to be punished. That’s why she threw that first punch at Kralla’s. Lana doesn’t give a fuck about the Nexus, about being a pathfinder. They shouldn’t even _be_ here. In this galaxy that doesn’t belong to them. The exiles are probably right. They can talk all the smack they want. But she’s never been able to resist a fight. Even one she knows she’ll win.

So she’s come here to Tartarus, licking her wounds, to get the beating she was looking for. She wants Reyes to punish her because he’s good at it even if he plays by his own rules. She wants him to wail on her like a stray dog but he’s always too calculated for that and maybe that’s nice too. Someone taking charge. _I’m selfish,_ he told her once, his face a wobble of pixels as the Tempest rocked through the scourge, _and I like to watch you struggle._ “A bar fight?” He pulls her lower lip down with his thumb, bareing her teeth. “You’re not big and bad enough for that, hermosa.” His grip tightens again around her throat. Lana wheezes. When she opens her mouth, he takes it in a kiss, releases her neck when she starts to struggle. “My delicate girl.” He kisses one corner of her mouth. Then he slaps her, hard across the face.

Lana likes Tartarus because it is, in all ways, diametrically opposed to the tempest. Filthy and loud. A beat that thrums through the floor, the same terrible shit they used to play in Afterlife. Reyes’ room is cut from the same shithole cloth. Tarnished metal and prefab furniture. The air thick with the scent of the oil he uses to clean his gun, the dense unpleasantness of whiskey open to the air. The club thrums outside, but it’s muffled in here. Like they’ve been shot out into space. Lana hates space. Funny, really. The weightlessness of it most of all. And so it feels good to be able to playact space here in the underbelly of a planet. It feels frightening. And frightening is what she wants. Because Lana lives and breathes scared now. At least Reyes is the scary she knows. The scary that makes her cum. Which he’s working on now. In earnest. Two fingers fucking her, his other hand holding both her wrists above her head. “You filthy fucking slut,” he says as he quirks his fingers up, as she shudders so violently at the change of sensation he has to cage her in with his body to keep her from slipping off the couch. “Wet like this, dripping down my fucking fingers.” He nips at her ear. “Who raised you? You little animal. You little fucking slut.” And she could listen to that all night. Could listen to him ramp her up, listen to the sounds of her own body as he fucks her.

When she cums he takes her jaw raw roughly in his hand, yanks her forward, but the kiss feels like love. Wet and sweet and soft. And everything inside of her releases, just lets go. And she, feels, for that singular moment, free. Which is a gift she could never repay him for him, something she could never even tell him, tearing threatening anytime she tries. He runs his thumb along her cheek, brushes a few strands of hair from her forehead. “I’m gonna fuck you until you break.”

The first time she saw Reyes without his armor was on the roof over Sloane’s place, the livid color of a Kadara sunset casting them in neon. Lana drunk enough off stolen whiskey that all the stern warnings Cora gave her about him just drifted off. Not that she was all that keen on listening to them sober. Not that she’d ever done anything anyone ever told her too, especially if it was good for her. Except Reyes, maybe. She does seem to have a habit for bending herself into all the shapes he wants.

He’d fucked her that night against the chilled metal of the roof, his hand on her windpipe. He’d made her cum so hard she twinged her shoulder. Lana dreamed about him for weeks afterwards, dreamed about how he made her feel raw and new and torn open in all the ways she promised herself she never would allow again.

His body had surprised her, still does. Like all that strength she sees sometimes in him should come with bulk. But he’s wiry. Finely muscled. A few tattoos scattered across his smooth skin. _Familia_ in looping script on his bicep. He’s never talked about family even when she drones, drunk, on and on about her father. Maybe she just hasn’t left him any room. Praying hands on his sternum. A cross on one peck. She doesn’t have the language to ask him what those mean to him, raised on the sterile atheism of every other Alliance brat on the Citadel. She once watched him shoot a man between the eyes, halfway through a sentence he finished when the man dropped to the floor. Lana doesn’t know much about Catholicism, but she has the sense that shit like that might be, in general, not part of the program. He leans down to take one of her nipples between his lips, worries it gently with his teeth. Lana runs her hands down his sides, finds the single scar on his body. Raised and deep. Just below where his heart is, between two ribs. She wonders about him again, about how little she really knows. The story of this scar, the story of why he doesn’t have more. Hours scouring the Nexus database for him. Nothing. Like a ghost. He slaps her pussy, one side of his lip twitching up over his canines when he looks up at her. She digs her nails in until he hisses. “Fucking pay attention.” She bares her teeth at him and one side of his mouth quirks up. He kisses her and the kiss is so distractingly soft, almost sweet. It’s hard to take. Lana reaches for him. Finds what she’s looking for between his legs.

He’s got a big cock because of course he does, because the universe had to deliver that to him, didn’t it? She can barely close her fist around it and churns her hips down, letting him lift her, turn her around. Something’s happened to him too then, He’ll fuck her like this, like a dog on all fours, and then later in the cool quiet of his room, he’ll tell her about a shipment he lost, a problem with his ship, a punch he took square in the jaw. They’re predictable. That’s got to be romance, right? Close to it, at least. He runs the tip of his cock down the seam of her and Lana shivers, curling her fingers over the back of his couch. “God, you love this cock.” And she can’t really argue with that, rutting her hips back toward him. He takes her by the throat, pulls her back until she wheezes, then slaps her roughly on the thighs, “but you do even deserve it bitch?” She does, apparently, because he pushes inside of her without another word, groaning against her ear. He lays his hand between her hips, pushes her back closer to him. And his body is so warm and so close. And Tartarus is a shithole of the purest variety and Reyes is a scumbag of the purest variety. And she feels safer here than anywhere in her entire life. He curls his fingers around her neck, just holding, and the sweet honey of the Spanish he whispers in her ear crawls up her spine. She could die here. It would be as good a place as any and just before the melancholy washes over her again his hand slips from her belly to between her legs, his other tightens around her neck. “Reyes,” she says, and her own voice surprises her. Like she hasn’t heard it for days, not for real. He nips at the shell of her ear, folds himself over her, and fucks her like he wants to break her, just like he promised.

When it’s over she watches him watch her in the lowlight of his backroom, the music thrumming louder through the floor than before. He takes a swig of whiskey and looks away. Like the looking is hurting him. “Are you alright?” His voice bounces off the wall, spreads long through the room. And when she doesn’t say anything, he looks back at her. “Lana, are you alright?” She doesn’t want to talk. She didn’t come here to talk. He stands, wincing and she thinks briefly to ask about a new bruise on his hip, the size of a small planet, but doesn’t. He comes around behind her, brushes her hair over one shoulder, then presses a kiss between her shoulder blades. “Hermosa. Relax.” She reaches back to hold him, her fingers slotted just under his jaw. He slips his arm around her, holding onto her like they really are in space, like she might just drift off. She can feel his heart. Strong and powerful and quick. Like a jackrabbit back on Earth. The thought feels wild. Strange. She doesn’t even know what the fuck a jackrabbit is. Not really. But he’s from there. Earth. Chile. Santiago. A place Lana has never been or even really heard about but likes the sound of. Wind whipped rocks and long stretches of sand. That probably isn’t right, probably isn’t what it’s like at all but she can’t imagine him anywhere but Kadara. Like maybe he emerged from one of those pits, arms outstretched, mouth wide and smiling, the dark mote in his eye obscured by the suns. Sulfur and sand and bodies stripped to the bone, bleached to nothing in the heat. His heart is so steady under her touch. Not at all like a jackrabbit, really. But like a predator, coiled and waiting. Lana leans back until her skin is flush with his. He’s hot like a furnace, like a distant burning sun. “Hermosa,” he mouths against the nape of her, “mi reina.” She tightens her grip on him, closes her eyes, lets the thrum of the music below feel like the beating of her own heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading <3


End file.
